


A Study In Bat!John

by lame_aries



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Bat John, Bat!John, Death, Depression, Experiment, Gen, One Shot, Sad, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lame_aries/pseuds/lame_aries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is dead and Sherlock has gone mad. A wicked and twisted adventure awaits in A Study In Bat!John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study In Bat!John

It was two years after 'The Reichenbach Fall'. John Watson had lost his best friend that day. Sherlock was more than a best friend to John. After loosing him it made John go into a state of depression. The years were like a sharp knife slowly being pushed into his chest. Afghanistan was a mere phase comparing to the loss he was suffering.  
John would visit Sherlock's grave almost everyday, but he couldn't let himself go back to 221B Baker Street. Going there was far too much to bear for the man. The flat smelled only of Sherlock. Sherlock's items still scattered about as if he never left the flat. John removed all his personal items into the flat he was sharing with himself. He had become so lonely. The only thing left in 221B was his chair and a few boxes. Inside the boxes were nothing more than a few extra jumpers John had kept. Sherlock would always make the comment, "your jumpers are ridiculous".  
As the days grew darker so did John's fate.  
One night John took the pistol he carried with him, and he placed the gun to his head. He pulled the trigger.  
John Watson was dead.

It was indeed a shame, for Sherlock was to arrive and surprise him.  
Sherlock had not been dead, but had faked his death to save his beloved John Watson.  
"I think I'll surprise him. Go to 221B Baker Street and jump out of a cake." Sherlock suggested half jokingly.  
"You can't; he isn't there anymore" Mycroft said in a dull tone.  
"Not there anymore? Well where is he?" Sherlock questioned his brother.  
"Dead." Mycroft stated.  
"John's..dead?" Sherlock said almost as a whisper repeating Mycroft's dreaded words. Sherlock's mind began to race in all ways possible. He couldn't believe John was dead. How? John certainly wouldn't have let someone murder him, and suicide was out of the question. Ah-ha!  
"You're smiling? Is it funny to you that your only 'friend' is dead?" Mycroft questioned.  
"I'm not foolish, Mycroft. It's all a big bluff to deceive me into thinking John is dead. He's planning on surprising me, isn't it?" Sherlock said rather smugly.  
"No, Sherlock. John Hamish Watson is dead." Mycroft said and handed Sherlock several magazines and news papers that showed pictures of the detective's colleague whom killed himself; took his own life.  
Sherlock's eyes scanned the papers. "Papers don't prove anything. My death was all over them." Sherlock protesting not wanting this to be true.  
"I suppose you could visit his grave–" Mycroft said before being cut off by his younger brother.  
"Grave? Graves don't prove any evidence at all to ones death! I even have a gravestone!" Sherlock said having a bit of a hissy.  
"Now, let me finish, brother. John Watson's body was handed over to science for a DNA collection. He was a war vet that committed suicide. It was only best to donate his body there. They wanted to 'find out a reason', but we all knew it was because of you. Maybe he thought he could see you in the afterlife." Mycroft suggested shrugging a bit having all his support on the umbrella he carried.  
"Don't be foolish Mycroft, he wouldn't be able to see me in the afterlife." Sherlock scoffed can't helping but to prove his brother wrong.  
Reality. It hit him hard. He had to restrain himself from crying in front of Mycroft. "Excuse me." Sherlock said and left.  
In the cabbie Sherlock let it go. His eyes leaked. His mind palace was crashing. "221B Baker Street." Sherlock said in his baritone voice trying to let no emotion escape his voice.  
He walked inside, and Mrs Hudson screamed. Her voice rang in his aching head. He silenced her with a hug and kept walking. Her voice of constant questions, lectures, and stories of what he missed was drowned out of his head. He stopped and stared at John's chair.  
Mrs. Hudson seemed to have gotten the memo and nodded. "I'm sorry, darling." She said and stopped herself from mentioning any more about John. Then turned around, and she left.  
Sherlock explored the flat gently touching his possessions such as his violin and skull. Sherlock went up to John's room and opened up one of the boxes full of jumpers. Sherlock lifted it to his nose and smelled it. John. He sunk his face into it.

This depressive state long lasted a couple months. Lesterade even tried to cheer him up with cases once he found out he was back. Sherlock discarded them. First, they are extremely easy. All simple murders if you actually take the time to look at it. Second, John wouldn't be there. John. How could he go on another case without John at his side. Chasing down a murderer. Hating what Sally would call him. 'Freak'. John would always compliment him with 'brilliant' and 'amazing' now that was gone. All gone.

Around two o'clock in the morning Sherlock had been in his mind palace. His hands where tucked peacefully underneath his neck. His eyes opened bright with shades of blue and green. He smiled then jumped to his feet. He grabbed his coat and put it on over his robe and sleepwear. He then put his scarf and shoes on and raced out of the house. He called a cabbie which was hard at this time of morning. He went straight to a shop that sold exotic pets. The shop had an eerie affect on it. There were jars and cages of strange creatures. Sherlock wanted to get out quick, but needed to find a certain specimen. The wood floor was damp and the lighting was dim. Walking down aisles consisted of odd screeches and eyes following him.  
Alas! Sherlock had found what he was looking for. A small bat. A Lasiurus blossevillii. Sherlock picked that one being it was the least disturbing in and appearance and wasn't screeching as much as the rest. Sherlock went to the counter and rung the bell. Obviously no one was up. So Sherlock placed the appropriate amount of cash on the counter, and left. He walked to St. Bart's and looked around for a certain body.  
"Sherlock! What are you doing here? Especially at this time of day?" A soft voice slightly startled said.  
"Ah. Molly Hooper." Sherlock said and turned around. His small bat cage still in his hand. "I've come–"  
"Sherlock, you shouldn't be here." Molly said irritated. "And what's that you got in your hand? A bat?"  
Sherlock rolled his eyes at how painfully obvious Molly was. "Yes. It's a bat. If you'd excuse me, I need DNA."  
"DNA? But–"  
"That is all, Molly" Sherlock said now irritated with her.  
He unzipped the body bag containing John Watson.  
How pale he was.  
The bullet wound had the blood washed away.  
'Oh John.'  
Sherlock set down the cage and slid his hand onto John's. He held the hand and took a deep breath.  
He remembered being hand-cuffed to him and holding his strong small hand. 'John' he mouthed. His heart began to ache in the agony of John's loss. 'So this is how it felt' Sherlock thought. It hurt him so much to see him like this, and yet Sherlock only expressed a cold concealed look. As if he had no emotion at all. He felt Molly's stare. It was like a dagger in his mind. He looked up to her with a darkened gaze.  
"I'm sorry-about-well-" Molly stuttered helplessly.  
Sherlock then looked down as if dismissing Molly. Sherlock got a sample of John's DNA. Then zipped the bag up as if saying good bye. From his head all the way down to where his feet only showed. "Good bye, John. For now." He said almost inaudible.  
He then picked up his cage containing the bat and nodded to Molly and excused himself from St. Bart's. 

The plan Sherlock was brewing was basically made of insanity and madness. Sherlock was sure it would work, but he wasn't sure what triggered his mind palace to think of this plan. He did rather enjoy experiments, but not many were on live subjects. He believes only a mad scientist would be able to successfully achieve plan in his head. To bring John back from the dead in the body of bat. The creature was one of the first animals to come into mind, so it was decided to be a bat.  
What he worried was that John's memories wouldn't come back, but through science he'd regain his human brain, so it may be possible.

Sherlock held the bat down with one hand. It's trunk underneath his the palm of his left hand and his index and middle finger expanded out to hold down each wing. Sherlock held the needle in his right hand. Sherlock lifted his palm just enough to be able to put the needle into the bat's body. It screeched painfully. The DNA formula taking an immediate action throughout the bats body.  
Sherlock recorded the changes in an eight hour span. First he became very hot and weak. Sherlock was able to remove his hand and the bat would stay.  
The bat's dark brown coat soon changed to a dirty blonde color.  
Soon the bats facial features seemed to disappear and were replaced with more human features.  
It had a small human face. Eye brows. Lips. All. His eyes were still slightly large as well as his nose. His eyes changed to John's blue/gray eyes. He still had his large bat ears. He also grew small human hands and feet. The bat stood on his two feet and looked up to Sherlock.  
Had the transformation ended?  
Sherlock had gathered some photos from John's vacant flat while the bat was sleeping. He would use those to trigger memories, and he would read John's blog to the creature if necessary.  
"John", he whispered.

"I'm going to call you John." Sherlock said aloud in his baritone voice.  
"Do you remember me, John? I am called Sherlock, John." Sherlock said his notepad ready to jot notes at any second.  
John just looked up to him.  
"His brain still needs to develop. The lack of words and expression must suggest his mind is battling with his bat instincts and human instincts. Suppose I will have to teach him." Sherlock mumbled to himself. "And yet, there he stands on his two feet." He said the last bit as a small hush whisper.  
John's fluffy chest was rising and lowering as he breathed. His heart beat was racing. His blue eyes staring at Sherlock with bewilderment. He finally opened his mouth. His jaw was lined with small sharp teeth. He let out a small screech, and his ears flicked as if that wasn't right sound.  
John made a small noise. It sounded like a soft 'eh'. He then smiled at Sherlock.  
Sherlock felt his cheeks flush, 'oh John' he thought to himself as he stared down at the small creature.  
John then expanded his wings and looked at them in awe. John looked up at Sherlock quickly after that. He tilted his head slightly.  
"John? What is it?" Sherlock questioned.  
John flapped his small thin wings at Sherlock.  
Sherlock did not understand the message John was trying to get across.  
John flapped his wings more so he could fly. He circled around Sherlock for a bit then flew to the living room. He circled around his chair. John then flew to window and hit into it. He dropped a foot then flew up again and tried to hit the window again. Before falling Sherlock caught John. He held John in his right hand and shut the curtains with his left. John was batting his wings furiously and trying hard to escape Sherlock's grasp.  
"JOHN." Sherlock raised his voice at him, then corrected it as he noticed it hurt his sensitive small but large ears. "John. You have to cooperate with me, please." Sherlock said softly.  
John looked up and his racing heart beat began to slow down.  
"Can you speak, John?" Sherlock asked.  
John blinked then opened his mouth and made the small 'eh' sound. "...j- .. jawn." John said and flinched his rather big ears. He seemed to not approve the light voice he now had.  
Sherlock beamed down at the small creature. "That's good. John. Can you say anything more? You understand what I'm saying, correct?" Sherlock babbled away with questions.  
John nodded to the questions a bit unsure.  
"Speak, John. Train your mind. It's one of a human, a mature human. You can speak." Sherlock said trying to push John to strengthen his mind. To -if possible- make him remember.  
John pushed out a sigh just as he used to when he got slightly annoyed with Sherlock.  
Sherlock let the smile press into his face once more. "You remember everything don't you, John?"  
John gave him another annoyed look and turned his head to the curtain covered windows. John simply nodded.  
"Speak." Sherlock said quickly.  
"Yes! I nodded. Bloody hell, stop being a cock, Sherlock." John barked back at Sherlock in a screechy sound.  
Sherlock smiled smugly.  
John glared to this; he was completely pissed off at Sherlock. His mind was racing which was unhealthy at this point. John was outraged. Last he remembered his friend, Sherlock was deceased, and now for some reason he was in the body of a bat. John didn't understand what was going on. He hated it. His body felt hot and weak. Sherlock, above all, terrified him. How? He never thought he'd be scared of him. Pissed off, yes. In love, yes. All emotions besides fear. He usually felt safe with the man. But now he was big. Bigger than usual. His voice boomed in his small skull.  
"You're mad. Explain." Sherlock demanded.  
John refused to.  
Sherlock released a disappointed sigh. "Well if you can talk, explain at least why you tried to escape? You know if you're found anywhere out of 221B you'll be taken to Baskerville..." He said then his voice changed to an almost caring tone. A tone John never thought Sherlock could express, "and I don't want to loose you again, John."  
John looked up at Sherlock with his bright eyes. He.. Cared? John flapped his wings and got away from Sherlock's giant digits and clung to Sherlock's nose with his small human like hands. They were rather clingy still having bat traits. John pecked the tip of Sherlock's nose with a small kiss. Sherlock's face began to burn once more with a blush.  
"John." Sherlock simply said as a soft coo.  
John smiled at Sherlock happily. He then flew on top his head. He nestled into Sherlock's dark curly locks. "Are you hungry, John?" He asked already walking into the kitchen.  
"Sherlock–I'm not a bloody pet!" John protested.  
"Actually. The fact that you're half bat indicates you're basically a pet, and if you're living with me doesn't that make you a pet? Don't worry John. I would never think of you as some sort of pet. You are my friend." Sherlock said in his baritone voice.  
John puffed out a sigh. "I suppose I'm a bit hungry." He muttered.  
Then Sherlock's long digits formed around John's body, and lifted him back into his hands. He was set on the table as Sherlock shuffled around in the fridge. Sherlock realized he hadn't bought any food since he 'fell'.  
"I wonder if you can eat Take-Out" he said directed at John, but was mostly to himself.

 

It had been three months of Sherlock staying tucked away in his flat with his bat/John. Lestrade had a bunch of cases he needed Sherlock on, but Sherlock still wouldn't answer them. Which resulted in Greg Lestrade calling Mycroft Holmes about his young brothers health. Lestrade never really mentioned Sherlock to Mycroft, the brothers didn't have great feelings for each other, and he knew that. He typically called Mycroft to come over for tea. (To ask him out on dates and have ~love~) Mycroft thought John's death would be a mere phase to Sherlock. Not make him stay inside his flat and never leave. The occurrence made Mycroft very curious. He did, however, see Sherlock leave the flat and go to the grocery store or a simple department store and come back with a bag or two. He didn't seem depressed. He seemed as if something has kept him busy. . .

Sherlock had just finished washing John's fur coat in a small bowl. John still hasn't fully approved of Sherlock caring for him as a pet, or that he's alive in a bat's body. He was just happy he was alive.

He remembered it all. So clearly.  
John remembered seeing his friend fall. He saw the blood. He saw the days darken. He saw it all up until the day he pulled the pistol from it's hiding place in his dresser drawer. He remember raising it to his head. He remember smiling so painfully. He was going to escape London and escape it all. He was going to greet Sherlock again. He remembered that. That's what he held on to in the after life. He searched and searched for Sherlock in the shadows.  
"SHERLOCK!" the same cry he let out as he fell.  
The same cry that stayed in his heart and mind for so long.  
He remember there being more people. Only his cry was louder. It was filled with agony and pain. There were souls like him. Searching. He saw many find the person they were searching for. When they grabbed hold of each other they would blaze away in a bright light. Either to hell or heaven, John thought. At least they were together. Their search finally at end.  
He then remembered once in the shadowy land something bright was blinding him. It was his chest. The brightness spread all over his soul. He remembered trying to resist the light. He was in panic. He didn't want to turn ablaze and find destiny yet. Not without Sherlock.  
Then, suddenly, he was face to face with Sherlock. His head so big as if Sherlock was God. John's body flaming with an odd fire inside. He obtained new instincts. Bat ones.  
"What has you distracted in that small mind of yours, John?" Sherlock questioned interrupting John's thoughts. Sherlock picked up John's wet smooth body and wrapped him in a hand towel.  
"Nothing important." John murmured back to Sherlock.  
"I've been thinking myself. Maybe it's about time you and I go on cases again." Sherlock said simply not showing too much emotion. His bright eyes starring at John waiting for an answer.  
"Sherlock, if anyone finds me they'll take me to Baskerville and–"  
"I know. I know. But John, There's a case on a serial killer who's aimed at people of power, just yesterday three people were killed at the bank– I think they're headed for British government–Please, John." Sherlock said. No. Begged. Sherlock was begging to John. John knew Sherlock never begged to anyone. It was a surprise to him.  
"Why can't you go by yourself? I don't help much anyways. Always running aft–" John caught himself from speaking more. His expression saddened. That's right. Even if he wanted to.. Nothing would be the same. John could no longer run after him. Only fly or hide.  
John wasn't sure if he'd rather be dead or the mutant he was now.  
"John. I haven't gone on a case yet simply because you haven't been there to go on one. I don't think I could ever solve a case without you." He whispered suddenly very sentiment with his small friend.  
"Please?" Sherlock murmured the plead trying so hard to cover up the fact he was being outrageously pathetic.  
John puffed out a sigh. "Fine."  
"Perfect!" Sherlock exclaimed and cupped John in his hands. "I think they might target some of the head leaders in London. I've been doing research and it appears there is going to be a party at The Savoy tonight. If I was to murder a party of officials - I would do it where I could take down at least a handful to traumatize citizens." Sherlock mumbled to himself.  
John fumbled about in Sherlock's hand. His small hands clinging to him lightly. He fell back and hung upside down hanging on with his grippy little feet.  
Sherlock lifted John up over his head to look at him. Oh how Sherlock admired John's little fragile body. Sherlock was still abundantly proud of himself for his creation.  
"Sherlock, you're brilliant. John said softly to him.  
Sherlock pressed a chaste kiss on John's soft head.

As the night fell upon London, Sherlock was dressed in a tuxedo and in that curled hair of his hid a small bat.  
The hotel buzzed with people all over the place. Whoever was going to try and kill someone might be the biggest slaughter of officials London was ever going to encounter. Sherlock's eyes scanned the room in search of the possible killer and who the targets would be. Sherlock closed his eyes and placed his hands on the temple of each side of his face. He went into his mind palace. His mind scaled out a map of each possible room where someone could place a mass murder. What weapon would the killer use. A list formed that he scanned. Ah-ha. A gun or knife would cause to much of a disturbance and a riot would break out. Fire would work. Possibly a bomb. The place to hide that would be underneath the building. There was a room in the basement just under the ballroom.  
Sherlock opened his eyes as if he just solved the whole case. "John" he whispered. "They're located in the basement."  
"Shhh!" John hissed out. "People will talk."  
"So?" Sherlock questioned. "Why should you care?"  
"I don't want people thinking you're a freak, Sherlock." John whispered angrily in his hair.  
Sherlock's cheeks and nose turned to a soft shade of pink. He grinned. Luckily for Sherlock, John could not see this reaction.  
Sherlock straightened up then slid out of the ballroom. He was in search for a staircase or elevator. He turned to face an elevator that looked as if it belonged in the 60s era. John looked around. The whole hotel seemed aged. John whispered to Sherlock, "The aged hotel would be much too easy to set ablaze. Maybe that is the plan."  
Sherlock nodded lightly trying not disturb sweet John. Sherlock entered the elevator inside was a Elevator Attendant.  
"shit." Whispered John.  
"Which floor would you like to go to this fine evening, gentlemen?" The attendant asked with a suspicious gleam in his eye. He seemed to be starring intently at Sherlock at the corner of his eye. He seemed so familiar. As if he had bumped into him.  
"One of Moriarty's previous assassins, 'lock." John muttered silently only audible a bit to Sherlock.  
Sherlock's hand hovered above where he hid his gun in his trench coat.  
"I wouldn't try anything." The attendant said beaming. "You're being watched."  
Sherlock lowered his hand to a resting position.  
"The basement then?" The 'attendant' said with a crooked grin.  
Sherlock simply nodded.  
The attendant pushed the button and rocked back and fourth slowly on the heels of his designer shoes.  
His stomach seemed to turn as if knowing some awful thing was bound to happen, but The Consulting Detective would never let something as small as an upsetting feeling bother him. Sherlock could feel John gripping tighter to his hair in the silence. The elevator going down a floor. What could have been only a minuet seemed like an hour. Sherlock's mind was racing with possibilities of what would await him at the door.  
The red smooth doors then opened.  
And what awaited him, was not what he had in mind.  
A simple hand gun was raised to face him. The person who held the gun is what threw him off his course.  
"Well well. Looks as if I wasn't the only one who could fake a death. Shame, I got news your little pet John died." The man in the well tailored Westwood suit said with a wicked beam. 'Jim Moriarty.  
'Pet' Sherlock thought to himself without showing an ounce of emotion. "Heard he shot himself. Looks like I didn't even my dogs to go through the trouble of aiming a gun at him that day." Moriarty said rolling his eyes with a sigh.  
Sherlock bit his lip in order to conceal the words he was about to say.  
John's hold on Sherlock's hair seemed to tighten more if possible.  
"It would have saved me the trouble of going through this now, too, I suppose." Moriarty said with a playful frown. Oh, how he was enjoying this.  
"Go through what?" Sherlock murmured the question.  
"Don't act ordinary, Sherlock. Don't you remember? I am you. You can't deceive me that you've become ordinary so sudden.", Moriarty said a bit annoyed. "You came because you know just what is going to happen. I'm going to burn this building to the ground.. And we're also going to finish what we started." Moriarty exclaimed peacefully.  
"Reenact the scene on the rooftop. You're going to shoot me. Then set the building ablaze which includes yourself." Sherlock said rather grimly.  
"Precisely." Moriarty said smugly. "Now if you'd excuse me. The show is about to start." he said and gestured Sherlock to step out of the elevator.  
With that single step the elevator doors closed.  
"It's not just me and you down here, is it. You have many assassins that have me as your target." Sherlock said silently.  
"Of course, I would hate for anything to happen not according to plan." Moriarty said with an evil grin.  
Faint music was heard and seemed as if it dripped from the ceiling above them. More and more did it seem to become ominous.  
Sherlock's hand slid down to the gun he had tucked away in his pocket.  
The gun was, of course, John Watson's. Sherlock found the spot where he hid it from the time Sherlock used the gun to shoot holes in the wall simply because he was bored.  
Sherlock's hand hovered over the spot about to pull the firearm out. Alas,

"Bang"

The brightness of the gun as it went off filled the room. The power filled the room with an unpleasing aroma.  
There was a ricochet of the bullet hitting into a target.  
The worst of it was, it wasn't Sherlock's gun that was fired. Moriarty has a smug look that faded when he realized Sherlock wasn't wounded.  
Something blocked the hit.  
Sherlock's whole body went limp as he looked at the ground. His face seemed more pale than usual. A noise came from his throat.  
His world seemed to have just took a crash landing.  
Sherlock fell to knees.  
His bright eyes scanning the bat with a gaping bullet wound in the middle of his chest.  
Sherlock shot a glare up at Moriarty who was still trying to figure why Sherlock was so torn because a bat coincidentally flew in front of him and saved his life.  
Sherlock's mind went blank. He grabbed his gun and pulled the trigger.  
Blood dripped from Moriarty's forehead and yet he still had a grin on his face. As if he was proud, Sherlock had shot him, or that Moriarty had won.  
The criminal's body fell to the ground.

Around him he heard shuffling of feet. The feet shufflers seemed to be wondering if they were going to do what their boss asked of them, but their boss was now dead. They left. Those cowards.  
Sherlock knelt down to John.  
John was working hard to stay alive. His breaths uneven and held back the urge to spit up blood. His eyes closed tightly. The burning sensation of his life slipping away consumed him.  
Sherlock picked him up gently in his hands. John's warm blood pooling into his hands.  
"John." Sherlock simply whispered. Just as he did when John was turned into his bat state. Questions flooded into the Consulting Detective's mind. 'Why. Why. Why.' 'You shouldn't have saved me, John' 'how could you do it?' 'John wasn't the one with weapon, I was. He needn't to save me, that fool. Now he's leaving.. John.' 'Why. Why. Why.'  
"Don't leave me." Sherlock muttered.  
John's eyes open. Bright as always. Tears forming in the bats small eyes. He managed a smile. "F-funny thah-that's what-t I cou-could only thu-think whe-when you-you—"  
"When I left. I know, but I wasn't really dead John— please. Don't. Go." Sherlock begged. He couldn't help it. He just got what he wanted as if he was a child and then his mother just took it away. "John. Let me fix you. We can go home. I promise I won't go on cases anymore. Please." Sherlock pleading really did remind John as if he was a child. Sherlock was acting so strange as if Sherlock really was human. John could have taken the offer, god would he have wanted to. That's really all John wanted. To just be with Sherlock. To grow old with him. To die peacefully with him.

"I-I'll be wuh-waiting, 'lock." He said struggling to speak, but seemed so calm. His eyes rolled back. All the odd mutant features of John faded.  
Sherlock was left holding an ordinary bat. 

"Good bye, John." Sherlock whispered. "I'll see you soon."

Sherlock placed the bat on the the blood covered ground; the blood from Moriarty and John.  
Sherlock held the gun that killed the criminal in his hand. He trembled. Slowly lifting it to his right temple.

 

~

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed my one shot. Crictism is always welcomed. (This is my first fanfic)


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